The sky above Pentagram City is a bruised, eternal crimson, split only by the jagged silhouette of the Pentagram moon. It’s another chaotic Monday in the Pride Ring.

Down in the streets, the air is thick with the scent of ozone, cheap gunpowder, and the metallic tang of blood. Everywhere you look, VoxTek screens flicker on every corner, broadcasting the same glitchy, high-energy propaganda. Vox’s jagged grin stretches across a skyscraper, his hypnotic eye scanning the crowds, while Valentino’s pink pheromone smoke wafts from a nearby club, luring the desperate into contracts they’ll regret for eternity.

You stand at the crossroads of the Doomsday District. To your left, the gleaming, high-tech fortress of the Vees pulses with neon electricity. To your right, the shadows grow long and terrifying, where the static-heavy humming of the Radio Demon is said to echo through the alleyways. Further north, the Victorian spires of Cannibal Town stand in eerie, polite silence, and far in the distance, the Hazbin Hotel glows like a faint, flickering candle in a hurricane.

The massive digital clocktower in the city center hums—a low, vibrating thrum that rattles your ribcage. The numbers are ticking down. The next Extermination isn't as far away as everyone hopes.

An Imp courier scurries past you, nearly tripping over your boots, while a high-ranking demon in a luxury limo sneers at the rabble through tinted windows. The city is a powder keg of ambition, secrets, and Angelic Steel.

In this pit of vipers, everyone wants something. Power. Information. Redemption. Or just a way to survive the night.

A flickering screen nearby shorts out, and for a second, you see your own reflection in the dark glass.

The question is... who are you in this hellscape? A newcomer trying to find your footing? An Overlord watching your back? Or something the Pride Ring has never seen before?

The stage is set. The eyes of Hell are watching. What do you do?